


Safe and Sound

by scrapbullet



Series: Fever [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Asexual Character, Comfort/Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, M/M, Nesting, Not Beta Read, Omega Credence Barebone, Omega Original Percival Graves, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9814061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: “It’s not good enough.”Graves - sweat-damp and rumpled, the knees of his exquisitely tailored pants smeared with dust - scowls at the half-hearted structure that he’s been working on for most of the day.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unsettled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/gifts).



“It’s not good enough.”

Graves - sweat-damp and rumpled, the knees of his exquisitely tailored pants smeared with dust - scowls at the half-hearted structure that he’s been working on for most of the day. Rather than opt for one of the many pre-made nests on the market he’d decided to construct one by hand, one big enough to sleep two omegas quite comfortably, but given a decided lack of experience the result isn’t even remotely up to standard.

To be frank, the heap of cushions, pillows and blankets, is a mess. Without a skeleton there is nothing to build upon; the walls too fragile to hold themselves and thus collapsing inwards. And as for the ‘roof’, well, the less said about that the better. The tacks pinning the blanket to the walls too small to hold the weight, popping out of the plaster to flop over Graves’ head.

Graves mutters a curse under his breath, flipping the blanket up and over with wandless, wordless magic. It’s such a familiar display of raw talent that Credence barely bats an eyelid.

“You’ve never done this before?” Credence inquires, curled up on the chaise with his customary book. Marking the page with his finger he cocks his head, appraising Graves’ attempt with a keen eye. His mouth twitches into smile before he schools his face into an expression of stoicism. “I would’ve thought you’d have had plenty of practice by now.”

With an agitated glare Graves slumps back gracelessly, leaning back against Credence’s legs. “Unfortunately not. We had a family nest, when we were young, but when I matured, left home, my mother built my nest with her own two hands.” He palms Credence’s leg absently, rubbing up and down the calf before grasping Credence’s bare foot, tickling his fingers along the sensitive arch. “Unusual, yes, but it was her instinct to care, to provide...” Graves smiles, lost, for a moment, in memory, before shaking away the fog. “I have to learn. Stand on my own two feet.”

 _To provide for you_ , is what he doesn’t say, doesn’t _have_ to say, and Credence feels himself tingle with warmth. His thigh muscles flex as Graves’ exploratory fingers finds a ticklish spot, and he places the book aside, a strip of leather to mark the page. “You already know how Ma felt about me, about my orientation. I never had a nest; I slept under the bed until she found out.”

Humming, displeasure all too apparent, Graves tips his head back to look up at Credence. Beneath the warmth of his gaze is the kind of simmering, righteous anger that leaves Credence breathless, the kind of anger that is passionate, that promises. That Graves cares so much to feel anger on his behalf... it almost beggars belief. 

It eases the guilt that festers within him. The guilt, and the shame.

“She was a fool,” Graves states with finality, “that she didn’t appreciate you was her loss, Credence, and you deserved so much better.”

Credence’s cheeks redden. In his heart of hearts he knows that what Graves says is true; his Ma was more of a tormentor than a mother, without a single scrap of affection in her shrivelled heart. What little caring she had in her she reserved for Chastity and Modesty - the darling beta girls who she hoped to marry into good families and continue to spread Her good word, and Credence... Credence did not factor into her plans as anything more than a whipping boy. 

And yet, his heart thumps in his chest with anxiety. Finding that he can’t look his fellow omega in the eyes he swallows thickly, eyes stinging from the force of holding back tears. 

_I killed her_ , he wants to say, but can’t. _I killed her, and although I didn’t mean to, I don’t regret it._

Graves turns, and rises to his knees. His scent prickles Credence’s nose, thick and heady and comforting as Graves leans in to cup Credence’s face, nuzzling gently. The vibrating rumble in his chest is so, so lovely that Credence shudders, collapsing forward into strong arms. Graves catches him. He always does.

Credence melts, omegan instincts soothed. It should be embarrassing, how easily he moulds himself to Graves’ broader form - tucking his head in the crook of the throat to inhale, slow and deep, and nose at the faintly swollen scent gland. How he mouths almost desperately at the bare skin there, tasting salt, fighting against the desire to bare his teeth and bite down.

“I know what you did,” Graves admits, _sotto voce_.

Credence stiffens, heart jumping into his throat, but Graves only squeezes him tighter, purr pitching higher and louder in response to his distress. 

“I know what you did,” Graves repeats, “and I don’t blame you. You’ll hear nothing more on the subject from me, Credence, other than this; _I will protect you_.”

The keening sound that erupts from Credence is short and succinct - quickly squashed and shoved aside lest he descend into actual tears. When Graves makes a concerned noise, leaning back to catch a look at his face Credence erratically waves a shaking hand at him, lips curling into a tremulous smile. “ _No, no, I’m okay, really-_ ” He breathes in, and then out, slow and steady. “We should work on our nest; many hands make light work after all.”

Graves presses a kiss to his forehead, the faintest whisper of chapped lips. “Alright. Shall we?”

Indeed, between the two of them they manage to construct a far sturdier nest, secreted away in the corner of the room. Two walls are better than one, after all, and so large cushions have something in which to lean against, the back of a sturdy armchair becoming their third wall. With longer, sturdier nails they pin two sides of a blanket to solid plaster and drape it over the chair, before filling the small den with more pillows and quilts than can possibly be counted. 

Inside, their make-shift bed is cosy and safe and dark. Credence crawls within and tucks himself into a ball, radiating sleepy contentment, quite happy to burrow in and allow his primitive self to relax in the confines of their sheltered, protected space. Theirs. _Just theirs and no-one else's_.

Graves, a perfectionist at heart, still finds it in himself to grumble despite their nest being near-perfection. He crouches outside of the nest whilst Credence lounges within, looking it over with a critical eye. “There’s something missing.”

“Yes,” Credence says glibly, “it is missing something. _You_.”

Graves snorts in amusement, catching Credence’s grasping hand and conceding defeat. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. You got me, kiddo, you got me.”

 _Yes,_ Credence thinks lovingly, _yes I do._


End file.
